Angel of Music Revealed
by Blood Trillium
Summary: How the post-Music of the Night scene could have gone differently. Erik/Christine.
1. Keepsake

Title: Angel of Music Revealed

Author: Golden Trillium

Fandom: The Phantom of the Opera

Rating: M for strong sexuality. Some borderline- kind of non-consent.

Pairing/Summary/etc: The Phantom/Christine. How the post-Music of the Night scene could have gone differently. Smut, little plot. Enjoy.

Disclaimer: Don't own it. Not making any money.

The Phantom looked down at Christine's white-clad form, lying on the bed.

His bed.

He had carried her there and laid her down on it, and he had been almost surprised to discover that she had weight, that she was not an ethereal wisp in his arms. Not too much weight to carry- never that. He would have carried her for miles- but only this short distance had been necessary. She was lying on his bed.

She was a girl on the brink of womanhood, lush and ripe and beautiful, and he had brought her here, meaning to show her at last who he really was. At least to a point.

What should he do now?

He didn't know why she had fainted. It was a mystery to him, but he was no longer alarmed as he had been at her initial slump against his shoulder. She seemed to be all right. Her breathing was deep and regular, making her shapely bosom rise and fall in slow rhythm. She lay, apparently sleeping. She did not wake, and he was not disposed to wake her.

She lay there for him.

That thought came to the Phantom suddenly. Perhaps Christine had fainted because that was the only way that he could have this. This time to look down at her, rake her form with his eyes to his heart's content, at close range and with no distractions. The only way- dare he think it?- that he would be able to touch her. To…

If she stayed like that, he could do anything he wanted to her.

A dark resolve crept into his mind, and he stepped forward, not back, and sat down on the foot of the bed, staring at her. She was mesmerizing. Dark rivers of curly hair spilled over the pillow- _his_ pillow!- long eyelashes lay lush on porcelain cheeks, red lips curved, relaxed in sleep, like a Cupid's bow. His thigh, where he sat, just barely touched her feet.

The Phantom noted that she was still wearing her shoes, and he made up his mind to take them off. He told himself he was only being kind, making her more comfortable, but there were other reasons for it than that- reasons that came from the darker recesses of his mind. Moving as if underwater, slowly, with infinite deliberateness, he slid one hand under one delicate ankle and grasped the heel of the shoe with the other.

It slipped off easily. She never stirred. He leaned over and set the shoe soundlessly on the floor beside the bed, then turned to do the same with the other. The arch of her foot, when he took it in both increasingly-emboldened hands, was a work of exquisite architecture to him, worth a song in itself.

She was also wearing stockings.

The Phantom's eyes slid up the white silk that covered Christine's legs, to the place where it disappeared under her skirt.

Very far up indeed.

He took off his gloves, first. Touching her feet with leather-covered hands was one thing, but this- this would be even better, and the Phantom wasn't going to let a single sensation of it go to waste. He dropped his gloves beside the shoes, and scooted a little closer to her, lifting up her feet and setting them in his lap.

Christine sighed, a quiet, breathy sigh that seemed to signify descent into greater relaxation.

Good.

He started up one leg, both hands around it, so as not to miss one tiny aspect of its shapeliness. The silk of the stocking was smooth, but not as smooth as her skin when he reached the top and touched her bare thigh. The stocking came down, his hands worshipfully gliding on pale, bare skin all the way.

Christine sighed again.

The second leg received the same treatment, and still she did not wake.

The universe was being kinder to the Phantom today than it had been in…well, perhaps his whole life.

The stockings had been set aside, but there wasn't anything preventing him from continuing to caress her legs, so he did. Up and down…up and down again, daring a little more pressure, daring even above where the stockings had reached, daring to push the skirt aside and see. He scooted in closer, so her knees lay in his lap now; he returned one hand to her feet, fascinated by the delicate arch of the bones. There was another place that was more fascinating still…

He found his other hand hovering over the junction of her legs.

Should he touch her there?

He could feel the warmth radiating up from her, and brought his hand down to meet it, cupping her over the triangle of her underwear. She caught her breath, and he stiffened- but again, she did not wake.

So he could touch her there.

He set his hand down again, more firmly, and her closed-eyed face shifted and a tiny, unidentifiable sound escaped her lips. Perhaps she would wake, after all.

Well, then, she would wake and find she was his!

With sudden decision, the Phantom turned towards Christine and leaned over her, one hand propped on the surface of her bed, the other now moving more purposefully between her legs. He pushed the crotch of her underwear aside, parted her warm, damp folds with agile fingers, and…so that was the place that- well, as he had heard and spied on a few inadvertent demonstrations of- would make a woman half-crazy with passion?

It made Christine moan melodically and push her hips up towards him, blindly, in her sleep. Her head turned to one side, as if seeking something.

"Angel…" she whispered, just barely loud enough to hear.

And that was when the Phantom changed his mind.

A second ago he had meant to go through with it- take her, by force if he had to. But…no. No. The darker part of his mind that urged it was overcome, overcome by the innocent, unthinking response that Christine gave him, even in dreams. Her Angel- that was him. The name she had given him, knowing nothing of his true nature. And he couldn't do that to her.

Not when she had already showed him such trust.

The Phantom stood, moving Christine's legs aside as quickly as he could without waking her. He pulled her skirt back down the way it had been, hardly daring to look at her now, lest he feel himself so basely tempted again. There was nothing he could reasonably do about the shoes, or- dear God!- the stockings, so he left them where they were, on the floor.

For a moment. On second thought, he turned back, picked up the stockings, and stuffed them into a drawer of a bureau that stood nearby. He'd keep them, for a remembrance of this.

He'd think of some story to tell her when she woke.

_TBC_


	2. The Sleeper Awakes

Christine woke with a soft gasp.

She was not in her own bed. She was on _a_ bed, but it was unfamiliar, as was the gauzy black curtain surrounding it. Candlelight flickered from somewhere on the other side of the thin cloth. From a little closer came the sound of tiny chimes.

Puzzled, Christine half sat up, propping herself up on her elbow. Beside the bed, on a small table, a little music box played, with a droll little monkey sitting on its top, playing the cymbals. She blinked at it, bemused.

There was other music, too. Organ music, a few chords, then a pause.

_Angel…_

She sat up, turned, and swung her feet to the ground, catching her breath at the unexpected coldness of the floor. Her feet- as she just then realized- were bare. Her shoes stood neatly next to each other beside the bed.

Her stockings, on the other hand, were nowhere that she could see.

A dream…perhaps this was a dream. That might explain it. Moving like a ghost, she pushed back the filmy curtain and stepped outside it. The room- if it was exactly a room- that she stood in was clearly appointed as a bedroom; there were a couple of chests of drawers and clothes and other paraphernalia of dressing strewn about, besides the bed itself. Strangely, a few of the odds and ends were things she recognized- things that had been parts of various costumes. Like that boldly striped cravat tossed over a chair over there- Piangi had been livid when it had gone missing. Now it was…here?

And the organ music…

Christine walked towards that, gliding barefoot over the floor. The "room" had no door, but it did have a sort of doorway, and she rounded the corner and came out a somewhat larger space, equally candlelit and cluttered. To her left, there was no wall, and the floor simply seemed to drop off; the sluggish, lapping sounds of water came from below. It did not surprise her to hear it. There had been a lake, and a boat, and…

To her right, an organ dominated the brightest part of the room. And a man sat with his back to her, playing.

It was the Angel of Music. Of course.

His back was to Christine, and if he knew she was awake, he gave no sign; he played, paused to scribble notes on the sheet in front of him, played some more and scribbled again, and so on as Christine drew closer, step by quiet, inexorable step. As she approached, she could see his long, elegant fingers dance over the keys, drawing flourishes of notes from the instrument that surprised and captivated her. She came nearer, around his side.

Near enough to see his face- half smooth, well-shaped, and beautiful, the other half covered by a mask.

She wondered very much what was underneath it.

Why not just remove it and see?

She cupped a hand around his good cheek, ran her fingers over the warm, smooth skin, and he closed his eyes and leaned his head into her shoulder. Trusting, grateful. Gratifying. She touched the edge of the mask with her fingertips, and…

"No!"

The Phantom's reaction was immediate and violent. He leaped up off the bench and blindly shoved Christine away; she stumbled and fell heavily to the floor, tears springing into her eyes as pain shot through the elbow she had landed on. Music sheets, disordered and disarrayed, slumped off the organ's music rack and fluttered down everywhere. He stood there, looking down at her in accusation, breathing heavily, clutching his mask to his face.

She had almost seen. It had almost been disaster.

"I…I'm sorry…" Christine whimpered from the floor. She turned half to her side and sat up, bringing the injured elbow into her lap. She was crying despite trying not to, and the Phantom realized only then that perhaps this was disaster, too, just for another reason. He had hurt her.

He was a monster indeed.

"Oh, God, Christine," he nearly sobbed as he came to her and put his hands under her arms, pulling her to her feet and wrapping one arm around her waist, snugging her protectively against his body. She came easily into the embrace, with a childlike eagerness to be comforted, and buried her sniffles against his shoulder.

"I didn't mean to…I'm so sorry, Christine. So sorry. Forgive me," he murmured, keeping up a soothing flow of words as he gently cupped the elbow she had been favoring. The beginnings of a bruise were visible at the edge of her white sleeve when he looked- but there was no blood, nothing broken. He felt relief- and disgust with himself for feeling it. This was Christine. _His_ Christine, his little songbird. He shouldn't hurt her at all, ever.

Once again the Phantom wondered if he had been right to bring her here.

"I'm sorry…I'm all right. I was…surprised more than anything. I won't do it again." Christine raised her head from the Phantom's shoulder and murmured excuses of her own, turning her head to dry her eyes on her sleeve.

"I was just curious. About you, that's all. Are…" she took a minute step back, hands resting on his chest, and studied his face. She touched his good cheek again, and the Phantom had to school himself not to flinch, even though she came nowhere near the mask this time.

"Are you really an angel?"

The innocent, naïve question shook him to the core. She could ask that, even now?

He loved her all the more for it.

"No." He leaned towards her, pressed a chaste kiss to her forehead- but then stepped back and turned away. He crouched and began to gather the scattered music sheets, stacking them and returning them to order as he went. There were a lot of them.

"No?" She repeated, puzzled. Belatedly she realized that he was going about picking up the dropped sheets, and bent to gather some of them herself, holding the sheaf out to him when she was finished. He took it with a tiny, grim smile.

"No," he repeated, and turned to set the music all back on the rack. He sat back down on the bench and riffled through the sheets again, looking for something.

"Were you sent by my father?" Christine persisted, now standing behind him. Once again, she came around his side and craned her neck to look into his face, though now she kept a bit more distance. Oh, God- he had made her wary. Perhaps she should be.

"No," he answered again. He wanted to be honest with her, after all. Christine's face fell in puzzlement again. Why was her benefactor blocking her at every turn?

"You…you are a man, then?" Christine was starting to feel frustrated, and it showed.

"You have a name? What should I call you?"

The Phantom bowed his head and swallowed hard. That question, he could answer. He looked back up at her, hollow-eyed.

"Erik." It was barely a whisper. He cleared his throat, tried a little louder. "It's Erik." He felt terribly vulnerable, exposed; his eyes plead with her for understanding. He was repaid generously.

"Erik," she repeated, eyebrows lifting slightly, eyes shining as she tried it out on her tongue. It suited him, somehow, and she felt a sense of privilege, honor, even, at knowing it. She smiled, and when Erik smiled wonderingly back, she came to him in a smooth movement and sat down on the bench beside him, her arm around his shoulders.

She was like cool rain to the parched earth of his soul.

"That's a nice name," she whispered. He turned towards her, and their arms eased around each other, unthinking. Their thighs touched on the bench and her breasts curved against his chest.

They were very close indeed.

It made Christine feel safe, cherished. And fascinated, longing to know more of him still. She studied his face, now that he no longer seemed to mind so much, and brushed her fingers to his cheek.

"Your voice is so lovely," she told him with utmost sincerity. It made her smile to think of, it, the way he had sung to her so many evenings, before she had ever seen his face. It had been a soothing lullaby, when she was a child, but lately…

Lately it had seemed to take on a different appeal, a wilder, more primal pull that Christine could not identify.

She wanted very much to hear him sing again. Here, now.

"If you don't want to talk, could…could you sing? …maybe?" She trailed off hesitantly, eyes wide with innocent supplication.

To her surprise, Erik seemed surprised to be asked. He blinked, then seemed to come to a decision.

"I'll sing if it pleases you," he answered, low and rough. His head dipped towards hers, his gaze hypnotic; Christine shivered and smiled, a beautiful, shy smile, breaking slowly over her face.

"It does please me," she whispered. Never taking his eyes off hers, Erik took a breath and sang, quietly.

"_There will never be a day when I don't think of you." _

He got no further, but broke off, lifted one hand and touched her silken cheek, then ran a thumb over her lips. He could tell her loved her. He could tell her right now. She was here, listening to him, and he could tell her all the impossible depth of his feelings for her, if only there were words to describe them.

It was easier, though, to describe her.

"My beautiful songbird," he murmured. "Angel…" His fingers dropped to her neck, curving around it with utmost tenderness.

"I could watch you and listen to you for the rest of my life and die happy." Christine caught her breath- he felt it, vibrant in the delicate structures of her throat- and leaned into him…

And kissed him.

She had meant the kiss to be quick. Just a peck on the lips, and that would be enough- except it wasn't. Not by half, not by a hundredth. Her lips lingered on his, her breath stolen, the moment stretching out, and out- while Erik lost his first disbelieving stiffness and pulled her in tighter with a groan. How many times had he imagined just this? How many times had he convinced himself it would never happen, only to start hoping and fantasizing again?

Oh, God…Christine smiled delightedly against him and opened her mouth to his tongue, her head tipped back, yielding to him utterly and completely. It was all new- totally new, every touch unexplored territory, blissful and exciting and perfect. She slid her hands around into his hair, and he pulled her close by the waist, and they kissed with abandon until they were out of breath and dizzy. When Erik finally broke away from her delicious mouth, it was only for the purpose of tasting more of her instead.

"Oh…oh!" Christine panted, squirming in his arms as he inched kisses up her jawline to her earlobe. He slid his hands up her back, took great handfuls of her thick, curly hair, even nipped at her ear with his teeth, and she loved it, arching herself against him, lolling her head to the side, letting him do whatever he wanted. And he did want it. Quite a bit.

This was much better than when she had been asleep on the bed.

He hadn't ever considered that she might trust him this far. He wasn't entirely sure he should trust himself, but she was too intoxicating to even think about stopping. He was pleasing her- by a miracle- and he just wanted to do it more. And…

"Sing." The word came to him as a sudden inspiration, and he growled it to her collarbone, which he was just now discovering with his tongue. Christine's eyes flew open in surprise.

"Sing?"

"Sing." Letting out a soft "mmph" of effort, Erik disengaged one arm from around Christine's body and riffled clumsily one-handed through the music on the rack, never lifting his mouth from her skin, only eying the sheets awkwardly sideways. Several of the papers drifted unheeded to the floor, but none of them was the one he wanted now.

"Sing that," he concluded, plopping the sheet he had been looking for foremost on the rack. His mouth moved lower, over the upper curves of her breasts; Christine gasped in rapture and clung to him as if drowning.

"Point…of…No Return?" she asked through heavy breaths. A miniscule glance told Erik that she had picked up the sheet and was reading it- barely. Her eyes were half-lidded and her cheeks flushed. He had never thought to see her so passionate.

He wondered what chance he had of just keeping her down here forever, and doing nothing but this, ever.

Though that would mean he wouldn't get to hear her sing. Not on the stage, as he wanted to. With that in mind, he slowed his attentions now to let her look at the music. He didn't stop- just trailed his mouth languidly over her skin, everything that was exposed by her low, square neckline.

"There's your note," he murmured into the hollow of her throat, as he reached over to press the appropriate key on the organ. She nodded, feeling wobbly and uncentered as she tried to draw up her posture properly- he was really going to keep kissing her while she sang?

Apparently.

"Deep breath," he murmured, as though this was a lesson. Her chest rose obediently, and he scooped up the sides of her clothed breasts in his hands and kissed the hollow between them generously. Christine whimpered, a decidedly musical sound that Erik wondered if he could somehow write into songs for her to sing to him.

"Sing," he coaxed, and gave her the note again. He also straightened up- reluctantly- and let her begin. It was an off-the-cuff rendition, to be sure- and there were things he'd change about the composition before it went to performance- but none of that mattered. Hearing her sing it was heaven. It would sound even better on the stage, the audience transfixed at the beauty of it, and him watching and adoring her from his private box.

He did mean it to be that way. Eventually. He would make it happen, by whatever means. He had written this for her, no one else.

"_You have brought me to that moment where words run dry,"_

"Lovely," Erik encouraged. He brushed a strand of hair away from her ear and kissed the top curve of it, making her falter on the next word.

_"T…to that moment where speech disappears into silence,  
Sile . . ._Erik, I can't sing this properly when you…"

She giggled and squirmed minutely away from him, and Erik laughed, too- laughed and then gave her the next note and looked at her expectantly.

"Go on," he urged. His eyes- they were green, she noticed- slid over her, eating her up with his gaze. Christine shivered, took a breath, and did her best._  
_

"_I have come here, hardly knowing the reason why . . .  
In my mind, I've already imagined our bodies en…entwine…"_

She stammered out the last word, and then suddenly, she wasn't singing anymore.

"I…I think I have," she confessed, looking at him suddenly and setting aside the paper. Erik blinked.

"Imagined it, that is. I've dreamed…" She hesitated a second, poised on the brink- then suddenly grabbed his shoulders and pulled him, shocked but unprotesting, into another kiss.

"Dreamed of…" she repeated breathlessly, but it was all kisses and touching and feverish exploration from there. She broke off from his mouth to scatter heated kisses all over the bare parts of his face- she did avoid the mask, just in case- and reached around him to pull the bottom of his shirt out of his pants, wanting more contact, more closeness, just…more, more, even if she couldn't quite define it. He groaned as her hands slid up his back, under the shirt, and he pulled her hips hard towards him, blood rushing to his groin. Perhaps she'd sit in his lap. Perhaps he could touch her as he had when she was asleep. Perhaps…

He pushed a fold of her skirt aside and squeezed the firm, silky flesh of her thigh underneath.

Her bare thigh. Christine paused thoughtfully, one hand tangled in his hair, the other around his back, her lips on his neck.

"Erik…" she popped her head up, looking at him with suddenly narrowed eyes.

"I meant to ask you- what happened to my stockings?"

Erik opened his mouth. Nothing came out, so he shut it again, swallowed, and tried to regroup his thoughts.

"Um…what stockings, Angel?"

It was a bad pretense of innocence. She regarded him with utter unbelief, but Erik couldn't think of a single other thing to say.

_So much for thinking of a story._

_TBC_


	3. A Very Good Distraction

"What stockings? Mine, of course. The ones I was wearing?" Christine looked at Erik with narrowed eyes. He shrugged and tried very hard to look innocent and uncomprehending. He wasn't successful, and Christine hopped breathlessly up off the bench.

"They can't have just disappeared." Christine shook her head in exasperation as she stood up and straightened her skirt so that it fell down straight again. Once decent- relatively- she started for the doorway to the bedroom, without looking back. She felt skittish, a bit unbalanced. She wasn't exactly sure this should be happening- maybe she shouldn't have kissed the Angel. Erik.

Her lips, her entire face and décolletage, still tingled, and her breathing hadn't quite straightened out yet. She could vividly picture herself turning around, throwing herself into his arms, and kissing him again.

Maybe she should do just that.

Or maybe not. How long had she been here, anyway? What if people were looking for her?

Christine nearly ran the last two steps to bring her inside the bedroom, but once there, she halted, stymied. She had thought that perhaps the stockings were near her shoes, but had simply gotten pushed under the bed. Now, however, she saw that there _was_ no under the bed- the solid, carved sides of the structure went all the way down to the floor. Her shoes still sat there neatly, but they were alone.

"What…" she started, exasperated. Behind her, Erik arrived in the doorway of the bedroom and propped himself against the wall, his arms crossed over his chest, frowning. Why was she suddenly so worried about the stockings? He was bewildered- couldn't they just go back to kissing, like before? What was wrong with that? Or they could sing. Or she could even go back to sleep. Any of that was fine with him. But…

"Come here," he said suddenly, pushing off the rock wall and starting towards her. Maybe he could just distract her, and she'd forget about the damned stockings. He came up behind her and put his arms around her waist, drawing her close. She seemed stiffer than before, and he worried suddenly that she might want to leave.

Perhaps it was his repulsiveness that had brought this on. He couldn't blame her.

But at this point, Erik thought he might beg if he had to.

"Stay a bit. Don't go yet," he entreated in her ear, before catching the lobe softly between his lips. Christine drew in a breath and tipped her head- just a bit- to the side. She was wavering.

"Won't they miss me? Up there?" Her voice was deliciously low on that, and once more Erik brought a hand up to where he could feel the vibration in her throat with his fingertips, fascinated. To her question, though, he shook his head.

"I shouldn't think so- they're all sleeping." Erik could tell, even if Christine could not, that it was still night time in the Opera House, the deep, short night of after a performance. Even down here in his lair, there would be signs of daytime- distant noises from above, sometimes hints of smells from the kitchens, a slight lifting of the gloom. Right now, there was nothing- only stillness and the light lapping of water.

"You're sure?" Christine asked him, and he "mmhmmed" into her neck, the back of which was just as delectable as the rest of it. He ran his hands down her body, skimming over the shape of her waist and hips, and she sighed, her body relaxing into the touch. Erik felt extremely vindicated- perhaps things would be all right as long as he stayed behind her. It was a position that had its advantages.

"What was that song you had me sing?" she asked, raising her head and twisting it around to look at him. She reached up and ran her fingertips down his cheek.

"Something I'm working on," he replied evasively. He tightened his grip on her waist a little, urging her not to turn around all the way. When she acquiesced and was still, he ran his hands up and down her sides again, and then up her front slowly, stomach towards her chest. Her shape was perfect- he could hold her forever.

"Like what?" she pressed- the started, with a shocked squeak as he cupped her breasts.

"Something for you," he elaborated. He flattened his hands out and smoothed them over her bosom, up and down- and she relaxed into the caress with a gratifying sigh. He smiled secretly as he eased her hair aside, pushing the mass of it with his cheek, and kissed her neck once again. His fingers brushed the front fastenings of her bodice, and lingered there, thoughtfully.

Dare he?

Yes, he did.

He eased the top fastening open, the tiny hook no trouble to his agile fingers. No resistance- just a slight hitch in Christine's breath- so he moved down to the next one, then the next, and the next. Slowly. Gently. With the last one undone, Christine gave a tiny moan as her breasts spilled into his hands.

Erik wanted to hear more of that. Much, much, more.

"For you," he repeated in a whisper. He spiraled his fingertips around her breasts, feather-light, and she gasped and arched against him, pressing herself into his hands. It was amazing- he had such power over her, doing this. He shifted his head, and experimentally traced the shell of her ear with his tongue. She shivered and whimpered softly. All for him. Because of him.

"I'll write you the most beautiful melodies, the most soaring coloratura…" He ran his thumbs over, her nipples and Christine moaned, decidedly not coloratura, but low, rich and intoxicating. All for him- all for him. His angel of music.

"They will fall in love with you and have their hearts broken by you over and over again- but none more than I," he whispered, and slid his hand down between her legs.

"Erik…" she gasped. She still wore her underwear, but it was easy, ridiculously easy, for him to slip his hand beneath it and touch her most secret place. Should he do that? Should he...

"Erik," she repeated, more urgently. She tried to turn toward him, breathless, but he checked her with a sharp hand on her hip.

"No." Back to him- that was best. He retreated a step, and sat on the edge of the bed, pulling her down into his lap, and reached between her legs again. She was so wet there- something he hadn't quite anticipated, but it was nice, the way his fingers could glide through her folds.

And she was so responsive! He could touch her delicately, barely making contact, and she panted and squirmed; more firmly, and she would buck her hips upwards and the most exquisite noises would come from her throat. He could play her like the most beautiful, graceful instrument in his collection- and she loved every moment of it, lolling on his lap, eyes tight closed and legs open wantonly.

"Oh…oh, oh!" Christine barely heard the sounds she was making; she was conscious only of Erik and the pure bliss of his fingers and his lips at her neck. She hadn't meant for this to happen. Several times she had the vague thought that perhaps she should stop him, before things went too far, but then his hand or his mouth would shift to something slightly different, totally new, and oh…oh! She was helpless under his touch, capable only of urging him on.

He had- she thought- both hands between her legs now, one holding her folds apart, the other rubbing insistently at that little nub of flesh that was so inexplicably sensitive. He licked and sucked at her shoulder and she felt his teeth nip.

Pleasure mounted, spiraling up and up towards…she didn't know what, only that she wanted it.

"Oh, yes…yesyesyes," she begged shamelessly. She felt flushed with incandescent heat; she groped wildly for…something, and when her hand landed on Erik's wrist, she squeezed it hard enough to make her fingers cramp. Unseen by Christine, his eyebrows shot up momentarily at the strength of her grip.

"Sing, Angel," he commanded roughly. Would she do it? Could she? He could feel the muscles of her thighs tremble and flutter, and pushed himself to greater efforts, thinking- guessing, really, but it was a good guess- that his goal was close. She took a breath, deep, but aimless and shuddering- and obeyed. His little songbird obeyed. Her voice trembled with ecstasy, but it was an unmistakably musical tone.

"_Angel of music, g…ah_…aaah!" Her whole body suddenly arched and shook as pleasure exploded behind her eyes. It was all Erik could do to keep her on his lap, but he held her down hard with an arm across her waist and flattened his hand over her sex, idly smoothing down the soft hair there, until her tremors eased. He smiled against her neck.

"You liked that," he remarked, and even Christine could sense the eager pride in his voice. She nodded and started to turn towards him and slip her arms around his neck. This time, he let her.

"And…what was that, high B? Lovely." That embarrassed her, and she giggled, blushed, and dropped her gaze.

"I don't think it was a note at all."

"Nonsense- you doubt my sense of pitch?" Her gown was hanging open and mussed from her shoulders, and now he dared to ease it off, pushing it down her pale arms. She allowed it, but as the garment dropped into a crumpled heap on the floor, she yawned suddenly- and flashed him a sheepish smile and a murmured 'sorry'. Erik felt another stab of pride.

He had tired her out- that was good, right?

"Lie down," he urged her, and she slid trustingly off his lap and stretched out on her side. He pulled his legs up onto the bed and lay down next to her, facing her. His groin ached and throbbed, but he was accustomed enough to deprivation. He'd take care of it later. For now, he only wanted to look at her. To have her here with him.

"You're so beautiful, Christine," he whispered. He drew a hand up her side, thigh to shoulder, over the hourglass shape of her. She smiled at him, her eyes like dark, liquid pools.

"So are you," she whispered back. She touched his jaw tenderly, below the mask, then ran her hand down to his shoulder, caressing, and her words and the touch shook him to the core.

She would not say that if she knew. Not if she knew what he really looked like.

He had better treasure the moment while it lasted.

_TBC_


	4. Poor Singing Posture

**Thanks so much to all who reviewed! I'm glad you are enjoying it. I think there will be one more part after this…but it's hard to be sure.**

"I'm decidedly not beautiful, Christine." Erik's voice was distinctly grumpy after the second time she had repeated the compliment. Christine propped herself up on her elbow and scooted towards him.

"Are you calling me a liar?" He flipped to his back, away from her, but nothing, apparently, dissuaded her- she scooted forward again, half-on top of him, and he embraced her waist in spite of his momentary bad temper. He was so hard it was painful, she was oblivious, and she was flattering him far too much. He thought about getting up, but was loath to actually move out from under her. She was pushing aside a fold of his shirt and tracing a finger over his bare collarbone with interest.

"I've dreamed of…this. Something like this." She bowed her head and kissed him where here finger had just been, and Erik hissed in a sharp breath. Christine drew back, unsure whether that reaction had been positive or negative.

"Have you?" Erik's thumb moved back and forth, caressing the skin at her waist, but she bit her bottom lip in uncertainty before going on. He sounded like he didn't really want to hear the answer.

"Yes…sometimes, when you sang to me, at night." She answered anyway, in a low voice, peering into his face for approval. "It felt…" she fell silent. How could she describe the way she would sometimes wake up from a half-remembered dream, tingling with the memory of song that centered itself between her legs?

"Nice," she concluded, blushing. Erik blinked, looking at her with new eyes. What, exactly, had she thought about?

Could it possibly be anywhere near what he had thought about?

Not likely. He could imagine an awful lot.

Nevertheless…

"There…could be more," he suggested, treading with utmost delicacy, not taking his eyes from her face. It had grown a bit darker now- some of the candles had gone out, though quite a few remained burning. She regarded him impassively for a moment, blinked solemnly once.

God, what was he thinking? She wouldn't want to…

"I know," she answered, finally. It was a neutral answer, neither encouraging nor discouraging. Her hand skimmed over the cloth of his shirt and settled at his waist.

She wasn't sure where things should go from here.

_In my mind I've already imagined our bodies entwining…_

Quite true. Even when she had not known what he looked like, she had had vague images that paired themselves with his voice. But…

"I'm not completely ignorant," she said tartly, turning away from him and flopping onto her back with a bounce. Her bravado felt thin, hastily erected. He'd probably see through it. She wasn't completely ignorant, no, but she was vague about some of the details. Maybe a lot of them. It was hard to be sure. For instance, what he had just done to her, touching her like that…she hadn't had any idea. Not any _real _idea.

"I wasn't accusing you of ignorance, Christine." Erik's voice was flat, no longer affectionate. He rose abruptly from the bed and stalked out of the bedroom area, out of sight around the rock wall, leaving Christine almost naked on the bed, confused and hurt.

How could he kiss and touch her like that and then just walk away, angry?

She wished he'd come back, if only to reassure her.

She sat up, her arms crossing protectively over her bare breasts, a chill on her skin with the cool of the underground cave. A few noises came from the outer room. Footsteps, shuffling of papers, a few desultory chords on the organ, more footsteps…then silence for a stretch. A deep breath like a sigh, barely audible. Then footsteps again. The quality of light dimmed and changed, and she realized he must have blown out some, or all, of the candles in the outer room.

A moment of panic seized her- what if he meant to leave her down here, alone?

"Ang…Erik?" she cried out suddenly, turning and starting to swing her feet to the floor, unclothed as she was- but then the footsteps drew closer, and suddenly Erik's silhouette stood in the doorway. Her breath felt caught in her throat. 

"I'm here." He stepped inside, went to the bureau, and blew out the candles there, deepening the darkness of the room. Now only the ones on the bedside table remained lit- but there were several of them, and they cast a warm, yellow light over that side of the bed.

Erik had removed his jacket, she noticed. His shirt hung limp, untucked and nearly unfastened in the front, careless and drooping. He turned to her, and there was something deflated and dejected about his posture. Christine felt her heart contract with sympathy, but he spoke before she could find words.

"I'm sorry I made that…suggestion to you earlier. It was wrong of me. Inexcusable." Christine blinked, shook her head, desperation and confusion rising. She didn't need an apology, she just…

"It…I just…I just want you to…to…" she floundered, sounding rather hysterical even to herself. He seemed to be turning away, and she reached out and made a desperate grab for his hand.

"Don't you want me anymore?" The words tripped and spilled from her lips, for that was what she was afraid of; that he was done with her now. That she had been deceived and seduced by a man who wanted nothing further from her. Though the whole thing was doubly confusing because they hadn't done, well…_that._ She didn't understand!

Once again her words shook Erik to the bottom of his soul. Christine had a talent for that, he was discovering.

Didn't he want her anymore? Of course he wanted her! Of course, of course… 

"Sweet Christine." Before he knew it, he had turned and was sitting on the edge of the bed beside her, hugging her to him, his face buried in her curly hair. The bare curves of her body enticed him again, even though he had done what he had to to take the edge off his lust just a few moments ago, out of her sight. She sniffed softly into his neck, and he kissed the top of her head, then reached behind him to pull one of the bed pillows on top of the other.

"Come here," he murmured, lying back on the pillows so that they propped him up half-sitting, and pulling Christine down with him. She came willingly, her body melding to the contours of his. He was amazed by that- quietly, constantly, amazed. She was so forgiving, so eager to trust him.

He just hoped to be somehow, some way, worthy of it.

"Tell me more about what you're writing," she said after a moment. Her head was pillowed on his chest, and her breath whispered warm over the edge of his shirt opening, and the bare skin on the other side.

"It's…well, it's an opera, or will be." Erik sounded sheepish to her ears; he was running his hands through her hair.

"Your first aria…" he began, but Christine broke in with surprise.

"My first? I have more than one?"

"Of course. I must show you off to the greatest extent possible, mustn't I?" He slid his arm down and squeezed her waist, making her giggle, and pondered again the advantages of just keeping her down here with him forever. Naked, preferably. For as long as his self-control could take it.

"Anyway, your first aria will go something like this…" he hummed a few phrases of melody, an enchanting, swirling spray of notes that made Christine smile and wriggle with delight against him.

"That's so lovely!" She popped her head up, propping her chin on her elbow, and looked into his eyes.

"Thank you. It will be better, of course, when it's finished."

"Let me try…" She took a breath and sang a phrase from the beginning back to him, faltering when she became uncertain of a difficult interval. "…um…what's next?" Her laughter was like a song in itself.

"This…" he gave her the next few notes, his hands never still on her back. She started to sing, breaking off now when she went to take a breath for the high note.

"This is very poor singing posture. I'm surprised you haven't corrected me…master," she laughed, meaning the formal term of address to be teasing, surely- but it sent a jolt of arousal straight down to Erik's groin. He tightened his arms around her and pulled her up towards him, speaking almost against her lips.

"Yes…but…" he flipped her over suddenly, putting her on her back with a little gasp. He'd pleasure her again- yes, that was exactly what he wanted to do. He wanted her in his power, unable to control herself. The anticipation- just that!- of the exquisite sounds she'd make was enough to start hardening him again, though a bit more lazily this time. A bit.

"This…" he let that statement remain uncompleted, in favor of scattering kisses across her chest. Her breasts tempted him, round and pink, and he slid lower and took one nipple into his mouth, sucking it to a peak. She squirmed delightedly beneath him, and he sampled the other one, then pressed kisses down her stomach.

"Take this off," he begged at the top band of her underwear, nudging it downwards a little bit with his nose. Willingly she lifted her hips and helped him slid her last scrap of clothing off, leaving her entirely bare to his gaze. And mouth, which was what Erik thought he might like to try. He might not have ever done this before, but he had read (all he could find), and watched (when the opportunity presented itself, and he didn't feel guilty about it either, not when people were careless about privacy), and he had an excellent imagination and plenty of time to use it. So…yes, his mouth. He inched and kissed her experimentally, just above the soft hair. She gasped and reached for his nearest hand, clutching tightly at it. Perfect. Very encouraging.

"Come here," he told her, as he slid backward off the bed and knelt on the floor, pulling her hips toward him. It…well, it seemed convenient. Christine half-sat up, an unformed question on her face as he pushed her dangling legs apart- but her puzzlement quickly evaporated and she flopped back down with a startled, rapturous cry when he kissed her between the legs.

"Oh…oh, oh, oh!" Her little noises were even better than he had anticipated, and nearly constant as he explored her with his tongue. She tasted…unique. Rather delicious, in fact. And she was so wanton, whimpering, spreading her legs farther, her toes pointed and her whole body tense and trembling. Dizzy with his power over her, Erik held her hips down as she strained towards him, covered her little sensitive nub with his mouth, and sucked. Deliberately. Very, very, gently. Steadily. Christine moaned, cried incoherent fragments of words, clutched blind handfuls of the bedclothes, tossed her head from side to side- while he held back, never stopping but wanting to drag things out, savor each tiny reaction to each tiny movement. Almost before Erik knew it, though, Christine's cries mounted to a peak, and she was climaxing again, her whole back arching up hard like she would levitate off the bed.

"Erik…oh, Erikerikerik…" His name flowed from her lips like water as her tremors subsided and she fell back, limp and spent on the bed. Amazing. Marvelous. Beautiful.

Erik sat back on his heels and wiped his chin off neatly with the cuff of his shirt- she had left him fairly dripping with her juices, not to mention a wet spot on the bedspread, but those were trivial details, hardly to be considered. He stroked her little nub once more, delicately, with one finger, and she gasped and squirmed with residual pleasure. Utterly enchanted, Erik pressed a soft kiss to her inner thigh and laid his head down there, his cheek to her impossibly soft skin. He felt could have lain there forever- despite the fact that his crotch was distinctly tight again and his knees were tired of kneeling- but it was Christine that moved next.

She sat up in a sudden movement, and he raised his head to look at her. She looked a sinful angel indeed, with her wild mane of curls in disarray, face flushed, and eyes sparkling with undefinable arousal.

"_You_ take this off," she demanded, reaching for him. Erik flinched away from her, hand covering his mask in an automatic defensive gesture, scowling blackly at her before he fully realized that she didn't mean the mask. She was reaching for the bottom of his shirt.

Oh. Take his shirt off? What?

Apparently. Christine slithered down into his lap, straddling him, and was pulling it up over his head in a trice, and he numbly cooperated, wishing he knew exactly what she had in mind, because he couldn't…he couldn't…

Christine set the shirt aside and took his face in both hands, pressing heated kisses all over the exposed skin. She felt ardently affectionate, her insides buttery with the aftermath of her climax, and his skin was so warm against her stomach and breasts, and…

"I should…do something for you," she told him, backing off a few inches and biting the corner of her lip uncertainly.

_TBC_


	5. Confession

**Once again, thanks so much for the nice reviews! Makes me feel all warm and fuzzy inside that people are liking this! This is the second-to-the-last chapter…hope you enjoy!**

"I should," Christine repeated urgently. She slid her hands down to Erik's shoulders, then hovered one over his upper chest, fascinated at the contrast between them, He was hard and angular where she was soft and round, and he had hair there, of course, but none of that took anything away from the comfort and contentment of being close to him. In fact, it only made it greater somehow. She laid her palm flat on his chest, then pulled it away, suddenly nervous.

She didn't notice him swallow hard, but she did feel him tighten his grip momentarily on her waist.

"I wouldn't want you to…" he broke off. There wasn't any way to go on without broaching the subject of his own ugliness, which might only scare her off. Already he felt a little silly, sitting here shirtless but with his face still covered. Not that there was any alternative to that last.

"Nonono…I think I have an idea." Christine did that adorable lip-biting thing again, her eyes sparkling. She was blushing prettily, too. What on earth was on her mind?

Obviously, Erik would have to be prepared to stop things if they went too far, and he tried to mentally steel himself for it. Actually, he should probably stop things now…but he was all but powerless in the face of her girlish eagerness- and nervousness. She was fluttering like a bird- Erik even fancied he could detect her heart going a little faster than it should- and it couldn't still be an effect of her climax, could it?

"Here, here…get up." She stood from his lap, holding his hands and urging him up, too- up and back to the bed. He came with her, his one visible eyebrow raised in question. She tried to elaborate.

"Um…sit down. Er…lie. Down." Christine tripped over her words, finally settling for just sitting down on the bed herself and pulling him down with her. The eyebrow arched a bit higher.

"You know I'd do quite a bit for you, but what…"

"Shhh…sh…" She shushed him with a finger over his lips and giggled, lying back and taking him with her. It was irresistible- he melted down into her arms, half on top of her, and kissed her very tempting lips.

"Mmm…" she kissed him back with enthusiasm, and Erik realized that this position was probably in that "too far" category in itself. There was only one item of clothing still in its proper place between the two of them- it was ridiculous, how easy it would be.

Easy, but wrong. Hadn't he decided that before?

He pulled back from her lips with difficulty.

"Christine, we can't…"

"Oh, we aren't going to…" Christine, realizing the compromising nature of the position herself, sat up suddenly and wriggled out from underneath him. Erik flopped defeatedly onto his back, arms sprawled untidily out. He missed the moment even as he was relieved that it was gone.

But it wasn't. Christine scooted closer to him, now sitting with her arms around her bent knees. Her whole posture was alluring in its own- it revealed nothing explicit, but promised everything, her womanhood just barely hidden from sight by her legs, her cleavage lush just above her knees. Her toes were pointing towards his head, and Erik moved one hand and set it on top of her feet, which had so fascinated him when she was asleep. His thumb unthinkingly caressed her skin- already an automatic action.

"I was just going to try…" she broke off in a giggle, covering her face and looking away from him. She shook her head, then braved his gaze again, straightening her head up.

"Just…don't laugh. And tell me if I do it wrong."

She unwound one pale arm from around her knees, and set her hand right down on the bulge in Erik's pants, without any further ado.

"Chr…!" She pressed a tad harder, fingers curving as she found some of the shape of him through the pants. It was a bit confusing- she couldn't tell which end was which, or even where an end was. Did it matter?

"Is that…?" she shifted her palm, rubbing, just…rubbing the whole thing in general, and Erik made a strangled sound that was hard to interpret.

"Is that all right?" She drew her hand back, looking worriedly into his face. Erik managed to nod.

"Yes…yes, it…" Suddenly he grabbed for her hand and put it back where it had been, pleading with her with his eyes. His breath came faster, and he seemed nearly desperate.

"Good!" she chirped, her own eyes wide in surprise. Had she looked like that, when he was touching her? Like she'd sell her own soul for more? She rubbed again, thoroughly fascinated by his reaction.

"Ohhh…" he groaned and arched his hips mindlessly up towards her, unsophisticated though her touch was. She'd be the undoing of him- he'd never have the strength to stop her now. And indeed, when she shifted position a bit and started undoing the buttons of his pants, he didn't utter so much as a breath of protest.

"Oh, Christine," he could only say, resigned, almost, as the buttons came open. He reached up and pushed an errant lock of hair tenderly away from her face, and she turned her head, kissed his fingertips, and smiled brightly. Just where did she get that cheeky enthusiasm?

Had he done that?

He should be glad- but he could not shake a certain sense of impending doom.

After all, this couldn't possibly last long.

"Like this?" Christine whispered, eyes fixed on his face. She reached inside his now-open pants and took him in her hand, so lightly her touch was like a whisper. Erik nodded and swallowed roughly, eyes barely open.

"A…a little harder?" Christ, had he really said that? Had he really _begged _that?

Apparently, for Christine did exactly as he had asked, with a further little "mmm?" of question.

"…yes," Erik managed to gasp, nodding furiously again. Christine smiled her widest yet and- oh, torture!- let go of him, only to take a surprisingly determined grip on both sides of the waistband of his pants.

"I suppose you should take these off," she suggested sweetly, and gave them an awkward tug rather at odds with the confidence of her words. Erik was loath to stand up and take them off properly- he had an absurd feeling that if he moved too much, this would somehow turn out to be not real- but he did lift his hips and push them down enough to…reveal what was necessary. Christine seemed quite satisfied with that for now.

"Just…tell me if it's wrong," she repeated anxiously, and Erik considered telling her that the only wrong thing she was doing right now was not touching him already. At that moment, though, she did- she ran one finger, in a fascinated fashion, up one side of his penis and down the other- then folded her hand around it and rubbed again.

"Ohh…" Erik sighed beautifully and squeezed her ankle, and feeling emboldened, she lay down on her side next to him, curled with her elbow propping her up and her other hand still at work. Erik, his eyes closed, turned his face toward her legs and rested his cheek against her shin, so gently it sent a wave of tenderness through her.

"You're quite lovely," she whispered, thinking that that probably sounded silly, but hardly caring; on a whim, she leaned forward and dropped a kiss on the tip of his penis- something which brought a very favorable reaction in the form of a groan and another blind squeeze to her leg.

"I can do that again," she told him, cheeky on purpose now as he tried to form an affirmative answer. She wasn't waiting for one, though- she scooted closer to him, half-draped over his hips now, and did it again, then opened her lips and let him feel her tongue.

"Oh, God," he groaned, the exclamation coming automatically, even though he assigned no meaning to the words. His eyes fluttered open, and he looked down, thoroughly enthralled by the sight of her curled beside, him, her riotous hair half-falling over her face, but with the tip of his cock quite unmistakably in her sweet, hot mouth.

"Please don't stop," he gasped, really begging now, and once again, she obeyed- obeyed beyond anything he had ever dreamed possible.

Well, dreamed, maybe. But never expected in waking life.

She took her time with him, and not necessarily by design; she was shy yet, and not sure what, exactly, would do best to pleasure him, but quite content to discover it at a leisurely pace. Taking her cue from his actions of earlier, she licked and kissed him, touched him lightly and more firmly, and dropped the occasional kiss on his stomach or thighs, too- all in no particular hurry, relaxed and innocent. Erik couldn't decide whether it was heaven or torture- he just knew that whatever it was, he never wanted it to end. He'd deny himself completion forever if it meant prolonging this- lying here while she explored him delicately, gaining confidence in infinitesimal increments, now touching just _that_ new place her fingers had not been before, now taking him just _that_ much further into her mouth. He tried to restrain his reactions, fearful of putting her off- but a man, or a Phantom for that matter, can only take so much.

"Oh, Chri…Chr…" He was panting, little fragments of words tripping over each other, his face turned into her thigh as if he would shut out the rest of the world. He groped towards her with one hand, found her wrist, and squeezed unthinkingly, then in a burst of consciousness forced his fingers open lest he hurt her. Unconcerned- in fact, encouraged- she dipped her mouth lower, till her lips touched her fingers that curved around the base.

"Just…like that, yes," he ground out, and suddenly his hand was covering hers, making her squeeze harder than she would have guessed desirable- but if that was what he wanted, she was happy to do it.

She slid her mouth down again, as far as it would go, relishing how he arched up into her and made a convulsive grab for her leg. She was doing it right! And successfully. Flushed with accomplishment, she applied herself, hand and mouth, with more vigor, and a short moment later, he stiffened, made an intriguing sound not quite like anything he had done before- and Christine's mouth was suddenly full of something that tasted rather odd.

"Oh!" Her eyes were huge and round, her exclamation muffled around the object in her mouth- which twitched and gave her another squirt for her pains.

She felt a little silly- of course this would happen. Something like this. She wasn' t totally ignorant, after all. She just hadn't given a single thought to this part of it till it was already happening.

Silly.

Well, swallowing it seemed like the most efficient way to take care of things now, so she did. She was sitting up, a sheepish smile wreathing her face, as Erik groaned from the head of the bed.

"Christine, I'm sorr…"

"For what?" she asked, quickly rearranging herself so that they were lying the same way on the bed. Erik's eyes were still closed; he gasped softly when Christine draped her arm over his stomach.

"For…" he lifted a hand with effort and waved it vaguely downwards; Christine shook her head, unable to stop smiling even though her jaw ached. Despite the attempted apology he looked utterly relaxed, the planes of his face so smooth he was more angelic than she had ever seen him before.

"For nothing- you liked it?" she asked eagerly, cuddling closer. Erik blinked his eyes open and traced one finger down her cheek, then over her red, swollen lips.

"So much," he whispered, and kissed her- but he found his efforts to turn toward her hindered by his pants, still awkwardly half-on, half-off, if utterly forgotten until now.

"Damn it." He rolled his eyes, then gave her another swift kiss when she looked taken aback. "Not you, Angel." He sat up and yanked the garment the rest of the way off. It hit the floor who-knew-where, and he lay back down with a sigh. Christine immediately snuggled up to his side, head on his shoulder and a leg carelessly thrown over his.

So lovely, so sweet, so generous…Erik couldn't think of enough complimentary words to describe her as he wrapped his arms around her and buried his face in her hair. She was wonderful, angelic in every way, a miracle.

His flawed, debased self, on the other hand…

He turned his head and stared bleakly up at the dim cavern ceiling, though he did not loosen his embrace. He wished he could hold her forever, but…

"I took your stockings."

Surely the least of his sins.

_TBC- one more chapter to follow_


	6. Bargain

**Here is the conclusion…thanks to all who have been reading! This story was actually a first for me- normally I write an entire story before posting any of it, but this time I decided to experiment with posting it chapter by chapter as I completed each one. I have to say I'm pleased with how it worked out- hope you are too!**

Christine lifted her head and craned to look at Erik, very surprised indeed.

"You did?" He nodded, unable to meet her eyes. He had to tell her. After what she had given him, she deserved at least to know. She deserved more.

"I took them off when you were asleep…I put them away. I was going to keep them." Erik felt miserable at the admission, glad as he was that he had made it.

"I'll get them for you," he blew out a breath and stirred as if to get up- but Christine flattened a hand on his chest, restraining him.

"I…well, I wasn't expecting that, but…" she took a deep, careful breath and looked down the length of their bodies, naked and wrapped up in each other on the bed. Two hours ago, one hour ago, she might have been offended at the theft of her stockings. Now…now that she considered…now it didn't seem so significant. It was rather odd that she hadn't felt anything, hadn't known…but then again, she had dreamed, hadn't she? Dreamed of something…the kind of nonspecific, pleasurable dream she usually associated with her Angel. Only…that time he had been actually touching her while she was dreaming it! She blinked and looked quickly back at his face, absorbing that shocking notion.

"You can keep them- if you take off your mask for a bit," she told him suddenly. He raised his head abruptly, horrified.

"Take…Christine, you have no idea! It would ruin everything! It is out of the question!" He sat up, shoved her away, and turned his back towards her, setting his feet on the floor. He had meant to stand up, but lost momentum there, and buried his face despairingly in both hands instead. It was over. She would insist on seeing his face, and if he showed her, she would be disgusted and afraid, and if he did not, she would be angry. There was no way out of this- darkness closed in around his heart like a fist. It was well and truly over.

"Erik…" Christine's voice was laden with sympathy, and he heard her stir on the bed behind him, but stubbornly did not turn. She came closer, and suddenly Erik felt her warm touch on his back, first a hand sliding up and down, then both arms embracing his waist and her body fitting flush against his, cheek resting on the back of his shoulder. She would notice the scars on his back and ribs now, if she hadn't already.

He was disgusting. How could he have thought an angel like Christine would love him? It didn't matter how much music he wrote for her; he could worship her in a hundred operas and he would still be a monster.

Behind him, Christine took a breath, and…sang.

"_Angel of __Music__, guide and guardian, grant to me your glory."_

Ha! Glory? But already Erik was finding that he couldn't hold onto bitterness in the face of Christine's gentle voice and equally gentle hands on his back. She had surely seen the scars by now, but she did not shrink from touching him. And she sang for him. Even now, his angel sang to him.

_"Angel of Music, hide no longer. Come to me…"_

She stopped then, cutting off the word "strange"- which was as she had sung it before. Instead she shifted onto her knees, kneeling behind him with her hands on his shoulders. She leaned forward, trying for a glimpse of his face.

"Beautiful…angel," she concluded, speaking, and when he finally lowered his hands and turned to her, leaned in a dropped a kiss on his lips.

Erik blinked, not sure what to make of this at all.

Christine, on the other hand, had an idea. And her first idea had been rather a good one, so…

"I tell you what…take your mask off and you can keep the whole thing. Well, after I get back to my room- I'll need something else to wear." She giggled, and Erik looked at her, aghast.

"The whole…what?"

"My…my gown, silly." Christine gestured towards the limp, lacy white pile on the floor that was the gown she had worn down here, then burst out laughing and collapsed back on the bed. It was either laugh or be horribly embarrassed at her own outrageous suggestion.

"I'm sorry…you don't have to. That was foolish." Recovering from her laughter, Christine turned on her side, facing Erik, and traced a finger once more over the skin of his back. Who had treated him so? She wanted to ask him, but not now. Not now, when she had maybe, almost, gotten him in a good mood again. At least maybe he could laugh with her at this. Give him her gown? How silly. What would he do with it?

Erik, on the other hand, was beginning to think this was not a foolish suggestion at all. Her stockings _and_ the whole gown, in his collection? He could look at it any time, remember how her sweet curves filled it out, maybe even…ask her to wear it again? He hardly dared to think it, but her attitude did give him some tiny hope that maybe…maybe…and how had she expressed that bargain, exactly? Oh, yes…

"Done," he said suddenly, slapping a hand on the bedspread and spinning to face her. Surprised, she squeaked and laughed again.

"Oh…really, it was a silly idea, I just…I mean…my _gown_?" She half-sat up, shaking her head and feeling very pained, and Erik raised his eyebrows and gave her a smile that could only be interpreted as devilish.

"You suggested it…Angel." He shrugged mildly, as if it could not be helped, but the body-raking look he gave her was wicked. Christine's heart jumped, and she found herself wondering if there was any chance, any chance at all, that he'd touch her again.

"All right…I promise." Her words were faint, and he just sat there, clearly expecting a bit more, so she took a deep breath and tried again.

"I promise that if you take off you mask now, when we get back to my dressing room and I have something else to wear, I will give you the gown I came here in. I swear it on my father's soul. Good enough?" For a half-second she thought it might not be, but after a slight hesitation, Erik nodded.

"Yes. And I promise that if you will give me the gown you wore tonight- at an appropriate time, when you have other clothes available to you-" he added with a dry chuckle, seeing her start to object to wording that might be construed as wanting the gown _now_.

"-and allow me to keep the stockings which are already in my possession-" a deep smirk at that, remembering how he had peeled them off her inch by inch while she slept.

"- that I will take off my mask." He sounded almost like he was going to falter there, but went on.

"I swear it on…" And now he was really stymied. He had stopped believing in any kind of God long ago, and there was no person he loved enough to swear on, as Christine had sworn on the soul of her father. Well, except…

"I swear it on my love for you." The words fell suddenly into the silence between them. Christine caught her breath, a pleased smile breaking over her face. Erik dropped his gaze and shrugged sheepishly.

"It's all I have," he muttered- but then suddenly, Christine was leaning forward, taking him by the chin, and kissing him thoroughly. He would have been content to just lose himself in her again- but it was she who drew back.

She scooted backwards on the bed, till she was a couple of feet away from him, her legs curled modestly sideways, and took a deep breath. She felt like she was about to jump off a cliff.

"All right. I'm ready." Another deep breath, pushing down the nervousness in her belly. She crossed her arms over her breasts and regarded him expectantly.

Ready?

Oh, yes. The mask. Now? Already? If Erik had promised on anything else, he might have strongly considered going back on it. Even now he hoped wildly that she might release him of this obligation which had come up much too suddenly- but she just sat there, waiting.

And wondering. What was under the mask? Possibility after possibility ran through Christine's mind, each more wild than the last. Some kind of scarring? Something really horrible, like no skin at all and his white skull exposed? Something not even human, but scaled like a lizard's or furred like a beast? Blinding white light shining out, like an angel indeed? Perhaps…nothing at all, only empty space where the rest of his head should be?

Christine bit her lip and held her breath.

Erik shifted forward, raised a hand…

But it was not toward the mask at all. He leaned forward to the bedside table, and blew out the remaining candles in quick succession. Darkness, absolute, utter blackness such that Christine could not see even the silhouette of his body two feet away, let alone anything else, descended.

"Erik!" She squeaked, really and truly frightened for an instant. It was so dark it was almost as if the world had ceased to exist.

"I'm here, Angel." A large, warm hand touched her shoulder, and as they drew together, her heart slowed from its momentary trip-hammer swiftness.

"You…you said…" she protested feebly. Erik, she realized, was drawing back the blankets, and she willingly squirmed her legs under them, wanting to ward off the chill that suddenly seemed increased, too. She clung to Erik the whole time, and soon they were settled with the blankets over both their laps, their arms around each other.

"You said you'd take off your mask," she finally finished, accusingly. Erik, maddeningly, chuckled.

"Ah- I did, but you didn't say anything about dark or light, my dear." He paused, and then a dejected sigh issued from his direction.

"This is all I can give you, Christine. Please don't ask me for more. Not now." Promising to take off the mask- intending it to be in the dark- had seemed a mere lark a moment ago, but now melancholy threatened to overtake Erik again. There was still the possibility, even now, that she would be horrified.

But a promise was a promise.

Not to mention the gown.

He took another deep breath, steeling himself to lose everything- and dropped a final kiss on the top of her head.

"All right." He shifted a bit, there was a slight soft noise, but Christine, of course, could see nothing, and she was on his good side, away from whatever he might be doing to the masked side of his face. She strained her eyes into the inky black, but was not enlightened.

"Is it…?"

"Here." He found her hand and brought it up to his chin, unable to bring himself to place it anywhere the mask had actually covered. Christine, to his surprise, lifted her other hand, too, cupping his good cheek just as she had done before.

"All right." She felt terribly nervous again, butterflies flapping madly in her belly. His chin was as normal, of course, so was his other cheek- she began to slide her left hand up the right side with utmost gentleness.

"I don't feel anything." She had spoken a fraction too soon; a bit higher, and she did feel a difference in texture. Starting about level with the bottom of his nose, the skin was uneven, rough in places, but in others possessed of the unnatural smoothness of a scar. It was all real flesh, human flesh, warmth and life humming perceptibly through it.

She spread her hand and roamed a bit further. The eyelid- she touched next to it with the utmost delicacy, using the tip of one finger- seemed to droop a bit, though it was hard to tell; and the uneven skin continued up to his hairline, and back to his ear, which seemed to be misshapen, at least in the upper part. His hair was also sparser on that side, the eyebrow too. Farther down, towards the back and side of his neck, and also halfway across his forehead and along the right side of his nose, the uneven skin shifted abruptly back to normal. You could have drawn a neat line down the division.

Christine let out a breath she had not realized she had been holding.

He was real. He was not some part-animal, or skeleton, or incorporeal creature. He was a man- the same man who sang to her at night, wrote beautiful music for her, and who had pulled sensations from her body that she had never before imagined- save in her dreams of him.

"Angel," she whispered, and leaned into him, kissing him tenderly on the mouth with both hands on either side of his face. Erik was stiff for a moment, disbelieving- but then he crushed her to him with a groan, his arms tight around her waist.

"I never…I never…" he didn't seem to be able to get any further than that; he shuddered and to her utter shock, Christine felt dampness leaking down his cheeks to her fingertips.

He was crying?

"Erik…Erik, Erik…" she leaned into him, pressing kisses all over his face, desperate to comfort him, but it seemed to only make the tears flow faster, though he made no sound. She squirmed towards him, and finally threw a leg over him and straddled his lap, still holding his unseen face like a treasure in the dark.

"Shall I sing for you? Only tell me what you want to hear, I'll sing anything," she promised fervently, around a few more kisses. Erik took a deep breath, one that shook with emotion, and finally mastered the tears- mostly. He turned his face to the side and laid his cheek on Christine's shoulder and sat there a long moment, his arms tight around her waist, while she stroked his hair and his back with a tenderness he would never had credited and hummed a soft, inconsequential tune. Even in the long ago, hazy memories of his early childhood, he couldn't recall anything like this. Warmth- companionship- contact. Bliss.

"Eager as I always am to hear you sing…" he began. His voice seemed rough and unnatural to himself, as if he had not used it in a long time. He raised his head from her shoulder, and she kissed his forehead as it came up- unperturbed, uncaring of the fact that his face was bare.

"…it's very late." Early, was more like it, and Christine knew it too.

"It is." She nodded in agreement, but did not move from her position yet. She traced one finger over his lips, smiling delightedly when he captured and kissed it briefly.

"Can I…stay? And will you stay with me?" She asked it hesitantly, and was very gratified when he nodded.

"I'd be honored." He didn't sound tearful anymore; in fact, his voice was like velvet out of the dark. It sent a light shiver down Christine's back as she slid off his lap.

"You're cold," he murmured solicitously, drawing back the blankets so that they both could get under them. They slid down wordlessly and somehow Christine ended up on her side with Erik behind her, his arm tucked over her waist and his warm breath on her neck. He made a couple more adjustments to their pillows, and she scooted her cool feet back towards his legs for warmth.

"Better?" he asked in her ear, and she nodded and squeezed his hand.

"Mmmhmm." She was silent after that for a long moment, and Erik thought she had fallen asleep. He hadn't- he was too busy still savoring the miracle of her sweet body pressed trustingly against his.

"Will you…tell me about yourself?" Her voice came tiny and hesitant through the dark, and Erik knew what she wanted to know- how he came to be this way, his repulsive face and the ugly scars on his body.

He didn't want to talk about any of that, not now.

"Later," he told her, quietly but firmly. He slid a hand up from her waist and cupped a breast lazily. She sighed and wriggled tighter back against him- if that were even possible.

"All right." She made no protest; her eyes were drooping, anyway. She picked up his hand and kissed the back of it, then replaced it on her chest and took another long breath, relaxing more determinedly toward sleep.

Behind her, Erik was not still; he caressed her skin softly as she drifted off, a slow, comforting motion that blended perfectly with the darkness and the growing warmth under the blankets. The last thing she remembered before sleep took her- unless it was a dream- was him singing, very softly…

"_Anywhere you go let me go too…"_

A long time later, she rolled onto her back and stretched. It was no longer dark- she could tell even with her eyes closed- and the little music box at the bedside was chiming softly once again.

It must be morning.

Christine blinked open her eyes, to find the candles of the room lit again and Erik sitting at the foot of the bed, fully dressed, his mask flawlessly in place. He smiled at her, a small, wistful smile, taking in the sight of her waking in his bed, naked and with mussed, wild hair.

She smiled back and yawned; he rubbed her foot briefly through the blanket, then pointed over at the bureau that stood nearby.

Her gown was there, neatly laid out over the top of it, and her stockings were there, too, carefully placed alongside. Christine blinked. He was giving them back to her after all? But…

Erik rose from the foot of the bed and came to stand by her, holding out his hand for her to take.

"Come, we must return. Those two fools who run my theater will be missing you."

_The End_


End file.
